We’re going to have to talk about this. I have to tell him. I have to tell him how I feel. Because when he’s looking at me like that, how can I not hope?
“So…” I say, and I can hear how nervous I sound. “We’re dancing.”
I see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “Yeah.” His voice is husky, a word I’ve always hated but now find accurate.
My mouth feels suddenly dry. I lick my lips.
And his eyes follow the movement. In fact, they don’t stray from my lips at all.
He’s going to kiss me. He’s totally going to kiss me. Again.
Or so I think, until his gaze comes back to my eyes.
“So we dance, but we don’t hold hands. Right?” I say. I need to figure out what’s going on here. Because being near him right now is exquisitely beautiful torture.
He swallows again. “I don’t know. I don’t know what we do.”
Does he even know how he feels about me? Lydia said when he came home on New Year’s Eve, he looked miserable and panicky. But right now he looks like he wants to kiss me. He asked me to dance. He’s been sending out serious vibes all evening—
Wait a minute.
How did I feel after we kissed?
Miserable. And panicky.
Because once you kiss someone, you can’t come back from that. And that scared me. Because I so desperately don’t want to lose what we have.
Is it possible that that’s why he was upset?
In which case…maybe he does care about me. Or, in the words of my junior-high self, maybe he “like likes” me.
I would say it’s not possible, because hello—he’s Cohen. Funny and kind and confident and so very out of my league.
But he is not looking at me like he’s out of my league.
All right. Let’s figure this out. I need to know how he feels about me. So how do I do that? Lydia never really covered this. But body language will be an indicator of attraction, if not actual romantic feelings. He was flirting earlier, but that was probably on purpose—I think he was messing around.
So I try an experiment. I bite my lower lip, watching him closely.
His eyes dart to my lips again, and they linger. His body is pressed against mine as we sway with the music, and when I lean in the tiniest bit, I feel his breathing quicken.
I lean back again, trying to make the movement seem natural. A glowing warmth spreads through my chest. At the very least, he’s attracted to me. He’s said as much, but seeing it in action is more proof than words could ever be.
“What are you thinking right now?” he says, his voice low, seductive. Does he use that voice on purpose?
I blink, surprised. “What?”
His lopsided lips crook into a smile. “You have this look you wear when you’re analyzing something. You sort of get this crease between your eyebrows,” he says, his voice more normal now.
“Huh,” I say, tilting my head a little. “I didn’t know that.”
He nods, still smiling. “You do. So what is it?”
I debate, but only for a second. The best way to get answers to questions is to ask them. My heart thunders in my chest as I say, “I’m thinking about you.”
He raises one brow, and his smile turns into a smirk. “Good things?”
“Mostly,” I say. Without thinking about it, I start running my fingers through the hair at the back of his head. It’s always mussed, but his hair is also soft.
He exhales slowly, closing his eyes. Then he opens them again and meets my gaze. His eyes are suddenly intense, and they flit from my eyes to my lips and back again. Slowly he moves his arms, and they wrap more fully around me. I give a start as I feel his hand on my bare upper back, and I see his eyes widen too.
“I forgot the back was so low,” I say. At any point now, I’m going to have a heart attack from how fast my heart is racing.
“I didn’t,” Cohen says, and his arms tighten further around me. We’re not dancing anymore; we’re just standing here. Cohen’s eyes are having more and more trouble staying on mine; they keep straying to my lips. I realize that I’m tilting my chin up, that I’m leaning toward him, my eyes drifting shut—
“We need to talk,” he says.
My eyes fly open, and I feel my face heat. Please tell me he doesn’t realize I was about to kiss him.
His face is mere inches from mine. “Are you ready to go?” I feel his breath on my lips as he speaks.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He nods, his eyes never leaving mine. Then he steps away from me, his arms releasing me. My arms fall limply to my sides, and I feel like I’ve missed a step going down the stairs.
This is happening. We’re going to have this conversation.
I follow him out of the tent, and we make our way to the car and get in in silence.
“Where are we going?” I say. I’m not sure how I know we’re not going home yet, but I’m certain.
He looks at me sideways and smiles slightly. “You’ll see.”
I shrug and settle more comfortably into my seat. The air between us is charged, but Cohen’s calm tone is helping me calm down a bit, too, which I’m grateful for.
We take a few back roads, riding in silence, although every now and then Cohen looks over at me and smiles. He finally slows down when we reach a large field. He takes a deep breath. “My parents used to bring us here to look at the stars. I thought you might like to catch whatever’s left of your meteor shower.”
My eyes widen, and I smile. “Really?” I say.
He laughs at the look on my face. “Well, yeah. I didn’t bring you out here to murder you.”
I grin and scramble out of the car. My heels are unsteady on the grass, and I’m tempted to pull them off, but I don’t want my toes to fall off from the cold. I shiver in the January air, but I’m too busy looking at the sky to care much. I lean back against the car, my arms folded across my chest, and stare up. I stand up straight again immediately; the metal of the car against my back is highly unpleasant.
“Here,” Cohen says as he gets out on his side. I crane my neck around to look at him, and I’m just in time to catch his suit coat, which he’s just launched over the car at me.
“Don’t you want it?” I say, but I’m already pulling it on.
“Nah,” he says, walking around the car. “And besides, you’ve got all that—” He breaks off, gesturing vaguely at my shoulders. “All that uncovered.” He loosens his tie as he speaks. “Why didn’t you wear a coat?”
“Lydia’s dress was too pretty to cover up. Thank you for this,” I say, subtly smelling the jacket. It smells like him.
“Yep,” he says, leaning next to me against the car.
I want to look at him, but I keep my eyes on the sky instead. I don’t know if I can look at him right now. Not when we’re about to have a conversation that will change our relationship completely.
Unless I’ve completely misread this situation. I guess he could be wanting to talk about something else.
I see a meteor shoot across the sky, then another, and then another. I can’t help it; I laugh out loud. It’s not funny, but there’s something so exhilarating about seeing the stars. I rest my head back against the car, smiling. Then, finally, I look at Cohen.
“So?” I say, and he looks at me. “Talk.”
The corner of his mouth quirks, and he looks back at the sky. “No beating around the bush, I see.”
“None,” I say. I sound much calmer than I feel. My whole body is jittery with a kind of frenetic energy I’ve rarely felt before.
He looks at me again, his eyes intense. “You first.”
I snort. “I don’t think so. You wanted to have this talk.”
His eyes narrow slightly, and he angles his body toward me, folding his arms. “I don’t think I’m the only one with something to say.”
I swallow. “You’re not.”
He runs one hand through his hair. “All right. I’ll go first.” He takes a deep breath, looking resolutely at the stars above u
s. “I want to hold your hand, Mina. And I want to dance with you.” His voice cracks, and he cranes his head back even further, as though it will help him see the stars better—but I know it’s just so he won’t have to look at me. “And I know—”
“Stop,” I say. My heart is pounding out of my chest, and this whole experience is quickly becoming surreal. “If you’re going to say this, you have to look at me. Not the sky.”
Slowly, he lowers his chin and meets my eyes. The pain and hurt I see in his gaze almost make my jaw drop.
“I know you’re with Jack. And I’m not going to interfere if you’re not interested. But if there’s any part of you that wants me instead—”
“Wait,” I say, holding one hand up, and he stops talking. My mind reels.
Jack? This is about Jack?
I’m an idiot.
“All right,” I say. I’ll tell him in a minute. I want to hear what he says first. “Go on.”
I see him swallow, but his eyes stay on mine. “When you told me Jack had kissed you, I felt like my heart was being ripped out. And I know he’s my friend. But you—” He gives a frustrated sigh and runs his hand through his hair again. “Somewhere along the way, you became my best friend. Maybe it’s scummy, but I just need to know. How serious are you guys? Do I have any chance at all?”
My thoughts tumble all over the place, but they come to rest on one thing: Jack. This is about Jack. He thinks Jack and I are still together.
Did Jack not tell him? Why didn’t I tell him?
Oh—right. I didn’t think he felt the same way.
“You like me,” I say, still not quite able to believe it.
He hesitates, and then he says, “Yes.”
I clear my throat and scoot a little closer to him. He’s warm. “Like…romantically.”
He exhales and then says, “Very much so.”
“But you don’t want to encroach on Jack’s territory.”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Don’t you take offense at the idea of being called a man’s territory?”
I smile. A giddy, light feeling is rising in my chest. “I do.”
I should probably tell him I’m not with Jack. I turn to face him, stepping closer. He just watches me, his eyes widening slightly, his lips parting.
I stand on my tiptoes and kiss his cheek, and his hands slide around my waist, almost automatically. I lean my head back and look at him; his eyes are closed, his jaw clenched, and he’s frozen in place.
Ears and face, right? I think that’s what he said.
I press my lips to his cheek again. I let my lips trail down his face, feathering kisses there, and his arms tighten around my waist. He lets his head fall back, his eyes closed.
“What are you—” he begins, but I put my hand to his lips, and he stops talking. I kiss my way up his cheekbone, noting his breath quickening. When I press a kiss to the hollow just below his ear, his fingers tighten convulsively against me.
“Mina,” he says weakly, his lips moving against my hand as he speaks—it’s plain that his restraint is starting to fail him.
I thread my fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. Then I kiss the corner of his mouth, letting my lips linger there.
“Mina,” he says again, but his voice is stronger this time—it almost comes out like a growl. “If you kiss me, I’m going to kiss you back. I swear I will. And this time I won’t pretend it doesn’t mean anything. I won’t hold back. I’m not going to sit here and act like I haven’t been waiting to kiss you. Don’t do this. Not while you’re with Jack.”
“I’m not with Jack,” I say, kissing the corner of his lips again—the other side this time.
There’s a second of silence.
Then Cohen says, “What?”
“I’m not with Jack,” I murmur against his neck, pressing a kiss there. “I figured he would have told you. You said you called him, didn’t you?”
“He wasn’t exactly sober,” Cohen says, sounding slightly dazed. “And you said—”
I sigh, resting my forehead on his shoulder. “I lied,” I say. “I didn’t think you liked me, and I was embarrassed. But we broke up after New Year’s.”
“Did you tell him we kissed?” Cohen says, his voice rough.
I frown. “Of course I did. I couldn’t keep something like that—”
But before I can finish my sentence, Cohen’s finger is under my chin, and he tilts my face up toward his. All I see is a flash of his widened eyes, an intense look of determination and wanting and hope—and the question he’s asking.
I nod, letting him know that I’m serious, that I’m all in.
And then his lips crash down on mine.
Fiercely and urgently they move. He kisses me like he’s drowning, and I’m fresh air. Like I’m all that’s tethering him to this world. This is a kiss born of waiting too long for something we both desperately want.
He deepens the kiss, and the sensation is incredible. I kiss him the same way, holding him as tightly I can, running my fingers through his soft hair, reveling in the smell of him. One of his hands is in my hair, the other cradling my neck, and there’s such hunger and longing in the way his lips move that it’s all I can do to keep breathing.
I’m not sure I can handle breathing and kissing Cohen at the same time. Breathing can wait.
He maneuvers us until I’m pressed up against the car, his lips still on mine, his body a shield of warmth against the cold night air. I have no idea what the meteor shower in the sky is doing at this point, but there seems to be a meteor shower going on in my mind, in the pit of my stomach.
Cohen pulls his head back abruptly, just far enough to speak. “I knew it was possible after that kiss,” he murmurs against my lips. “And after tonight. You said you liked Jack before, but the way you kissed me…I’ve never been kissed like that. And then I thought about you kissing Jack like that, and I wanted to break something.”
I put a finger under his chin and pull his lips back to mine. He complies immediately, wrapping his arms around me and holding me tightly to him as our lips move together, tenderly now—and slowly, like we have all the time in the world. In every movement he makes, I can tell how he feels—can tell he truly cares for me. Not for my body or my face—for me.
It’s something I’ve never experienced before.
“I’m going to ruin my makeup,” I say finally.
Cohen leans his forehead against mine. “I want to take you on a date,” he says, his breathing still uneven. “Lots of dates.”
“Yes, please,” I say.
“I’ll buy you food. You love that.”
“I do,” I say with a grin.
“I don’t care what you wear or how you do your makeup or your hair, Mina. Go back to the baggy clothes if you want. Jack cared about that stuff. And in the past, I have too, but…” He shakes his head. “Somehow with you I just don’t. I just want you, Mina. Bad jokes and all.”
“My jokes are hilarious,” I say, nestling my head into his chest as he holds me tightly.
He just laughs. And in the distant sky, two twin meteors shoot across the sky together, side by side, disappearing into a new horizon.
Epilogue
Mina
Three years later
“Come on,” Cohen says, laughing as he tugs at my hand.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I love you, but we’ve been over this. I have sworn off corn mazes and all other Halloween-related activities forever.”
“This isn’t a corn maze,” he says, thumping one hand on the wall of hay bales. “Straw. See?”
“No,” I say again, but I laugh too. “It’s late. You have a midterm tomorrow. We need to get you home.”
“It will be fine,” he says, still grinning at me.
And he’s probably right. After doing one year of a long-distance relationship, Cohen transferred to a school in Massachusetts. He’s doing really well. And there are perks to living in the same state as your boyfriend—you get to see him on a
regular basis, for example. FaceTime is great, but it’s no substitute for the real thing. This way I don’t have to take time away from school to see him, and he doesn’t have to, either. We’ll both graduate next year, and the future looks promising. I’m managing a florist’s shop right now, but the owner wants to sell. I’ll put in a bid. There are so many things I’d love to do with the place—bring in some more color, for example, and get rid of the dark red walls. They stress me out.
Cohen keeps tugging on my hand, and I finally give in, letting him drag me into the maze. The night is chilly, but I only slightly regret leaving my jacket in the car, because it means I can just snuggle closer to Cohen.
He walks with purpose, taking each turn decisively, and I frown at him.
“You seem to know where we’re going,” I say. “Care to share?”
“Not yet,” he says, smiling at me with an air of mischief that I don’t at all care for.
“Cohen, what are you—” I say as he all but yanks me around another corner. “Oh,” I say softly, my breath catching, and I stop in my tracks.
The straw corridor stretched out in front of me is lined with candles on either side. The light flickers softly.
I turn to Cohen. “Those are fake, right? Those aren’t real flames?”
He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Of course that’s the first thing you latch onto. Yes, they’re fake. I know better than to bring open flames into a straw maze.” Then his smile softens. “Come on.”
This time when he tugs on my hand, I follow without protest. My pulse picks up with each step I take, and I barely notice the cold now. I look over at Cohen, and I give a start when I see that he’s looking at me with a smile on his face. We round another corner and come to a stop at the same time. Cohen nudges me forward with his hand at the small of my back, and I step into what looks like a room in the middle of the maze, the walls of hay lined with an incredible amount of candles. There’s music playing softly from one corner—it’s the song we danced to at his dad’s wedding. The wedding, by the way, that Lydia did not miss because she was sick; she faked it to get me to go instead, and she explained the whole thing to her dad later. I smile, and I feel tears pricking at my eyes.
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